There was the slightest of touch on my eyelashes, it could almost just be the wind. And then, on my cheek, trailing down to my collarbone. Even with my eyes closed, my skin remembered those hands.

.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” a voice whispered, gentle like a lullaby. My heart hammered in response, twice as fast, as if it hasn’t beaten for years.

.

I opened my eyes, expecting to wake up from a dream. Instead, I woke up to a pair of blue eyes.

.

“You stayed,” I said mostly to myself, in wonder, poking his arm to feel if this was real. It was.

.

“Did I say or do anything stupid?” I asked, as flashbacks from last night came to me in waves: a birthday party, him, drowning feelings with too many shots, the drive home, throwing up somewhere along the way, hazy.

me looking at him: I missed you every day, it hurt. The silence was never enough to forget the sound of your sighs or the way your touch leaves sparks on my skin. Sometimes, I wish it was enough. But oftentimes, I wish we can go back. Or start over. I’ll love you still either way, better.

“I love you. And I refuse to believe that you are this empty shell incapable of emotions. Because I know that you are in there somewhere, bursting of love and longing. And I won’t give up. Until the day you open up yourself again, I will stay.”